Children, Fallen Children
by Alcaeron
Summary: Five young blood elves venture through the dark portal, and are caught up in a war for the fate of their people. As battles are fought and secrets are revealed, they must choose their sides and decide what it means to be sin'dorei.  BC era
1. Prologue

Prologue

_"Shindu sin'dorei..."_

Alanya's voice rose over the rolling waves to dance with the butterflies. Her daughter lay in her lap, watching the ocean with wide blue eyes.

Matheron opened his own eyes to the present and shifted nervously. To the south, across that beautiful expanse of water, his city was burning. He gripped his double-bladed sword in one hand, and flexed his free hand in anticipation. His thoughts drifted back to the past.

_"Shindu, fallah na..."_

He and Alanya and their beautiful daughter had been resting on this very spot, reveling in the glory of the Sunwell. It was his first day of leave since he had earned the title of spellbreaker, and Alanya had greeted him with pride in her eyes. "You will be a hero," she said as she embraced him. "Some day, our daughter will hear stories of your bravery."

_Some day?_ That had been the first sign that something was wrong.

"Sylvanas and her rangers will deal with the skeletons and ghouls," Captain Thandril was saying. Matheron half-listened, still reliving the past. "Our targets are the necromancers behind the lines. Stripped of their minions and their magic, they will fall easily to our blades."

Matheron looked past his captain, across the channel to Silvermoon City. The columns of smoke were getting closer; the muffled roars were getting louder. The Scourge was coming.

"Their most powerful weapons are the frost wyrms," Thandril continued, "the frozen skeletons of dragons, held together by magic. It is possible, if unlikely, that we could tear them apart the same way." Thandril scanned the faces of his soldiers. His eyes met Matheron's briefly, then moved on. "Regardless, today we fight, and we die, for our city and for our people." He hefted his blade. "For the glory of Quel'Thalas!"

"Glory to the Quel'Dorei!" his comrades replied. Matheron realized vaguely that he had missed the cheer. He didn't care.

_"Anar'alah belore...shindu sin'dorei..."_

Alanya's voice had trailed away at last. Matheron watched her anxiously, awaiting explanation.

"There will be war,"she had said. "There are those that would use her. She is the heir to my name and my fortune, and with my blood in her veins, she will be a powerful mage in her own right."Alanya stroked the girl's golden hair. It was like silk, shimmering in the sunlight. "She won't be safe here."

Matheron's eyes widened. "You aren't...you're leaving me?" He shook his head. "Alanya, I–"

She laughed lightly. "Don't profess to love me. You wed me for power, Matheron. It is the girl you love."

He said nothing.

"Take a moment to think for once, and you'll agree with me. Your daughter is in danger, and I can protect her. She can stay here and be a slave, or I can teach her to be a leader."

Matheron remained silent, and Alanya began to sing again. His daughter looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes held only innocence – the blissful ignorance of youth, untouched by war, politics, lust, or power. _She is no leader,_ he longed to say, but a voice inside him protested: _would you rather her a slave?_

"They come!" Thandril shouted. Matheron forced away the memories with a grimace. A frost wyrm glided across the water, a dark rider astride its back.

_Better to fall in battle, than to live with what I've done,_ Matheron decided. _Today is the day I die._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Raethel gritted his teeth as he twisted the hairband into place. He hated the way his hair looked in a ponytail, but the Magistrix did not compromise. A glance in the mirror that floated beside his bed fueled his irritation. _It does bring out my face, I suppose._

Arthas had almost done him a favor by destroying the sunwell. Green eyes went much better with black hair. Not that anything went with the horrible red of his apprentice's robes. Cursing the Magisters and their silly dress codes with every breath, he slipped a wand he was not supposed to have into a pocket and exited his chamber.

On a normal day, he would have turned right into a narrow corridor, passed through the last arch on the left, ascended a short ramp, and taken his morning meal in the Academy's main hall. Today Raethel turned left. He wasn't hungry, and just as well: Magistrix Shanara had demanded his presence in the Sanctum before first light.

A dim passage and a winding ramp brought him above ground. He looked around carefully before moving on. The aptly named Murder Row was patrolled by the city guard, but it was best to be careful.

His excitement rose as he navigated the alleys, and he struggled to maintain his leisurely pace. Passing a pair of men whispering in an alcove, he heard the clink of coins and a familiar smell. _Thistleheads._ In the past he might have confronted them, but his friend's bitter words rang in his head.

_ I don't need you to judge me, Raethel. I judge myself every day, and every day I hate myself a little more. _Raethel turned his head in disgust and kept walking.

Walking past the girl on the corner proved harder. The low cut of her dress and the curve of her hips were far more interesting than the spells he studied every day. _I have neither the time nor the money,_ he reminded himself, and shook his head at her inviting smile. Her expression soured, and she spat at his feet.

At last he found the ramp. A plainly-dressed man lounged nearby. He appeared uninterested, but Raethel could sense his gaze. He produced the letter Shanara had given him, and the man nodded once. Fighting back a grin, Raethel descended.

The chamber was dark and warm and vibrated with power. Three Burning Crystals floated in the center of the room, baleful eyes glaring. Raethel paused at the bottom of the ramp, unsure.

"Now, now, Raeth, you aren't _afraid,_ are you?" Magistrix Shanara stood behind a table across the room, her eyes blazing. She didn't look her usual haggard self. She looked _alive._

Raethel skirted the outside of the room and stood before her. She looked him up and down and nodded curtly. Her red hair was cut short, unusual for a blood elf woman, but she was undeniably attractive. _Focus, Raethel._ He kept his eyes firmly on her face.

At the Academy, Shanara's desk was cluttered with candles and vials and pouches of magic dust. Her desk here was no different. Raethel understood how loose hair might be a hazard here, but he didn't have to like it.

"I'd like to apologize, Raeth," Shanara said.

Raethel blinked. "Magistrix?"

She laughed. "You heard me. I am sorry for all the years you had to endure at that worthless Academy, pretending to be a mage. As if your family has ever produced a real mage."

He flexed his fingers. "It was necessary."

"Of course, of course. Some things are best hid from the masses." Shanara looked him straight in the eye. "You've done well, Raeth, in all your studies – mage _and _warlock. It is time for you to move on."

She moved to stand before the Burning Crystals. Raethel hesitated.

"Come," she said. "I want you to know what we fight for. I want you to taste what Kael'thas has promised us."

Raethel came up beside her.

"I have shown you how to drain the energies from mana wyrms. This is no different."

He lifted his arm, and pointed at the nearest crystal. He closed his eyes.

"Go on."

Raethel reached out with his mind, and connected with the vibrating energy of the crystal. With a cry, he felt the crystal's power flow into him. It was painful at first, but then his mind cleared, and with every beat of his heart he felt fel power coursing through him. _This is right. This is what it feels lik_e, to truly live.

"_ENOUGH!"_

The power was wrenched from him, and he collapsed, sputtering. He looked up at Shanara.

"This is the gift of Kael'thas," she said. "But this is all we have."

Raethel's mouth was dry. "I need more."

Shanara smiled.

Aethis shook his head and peered out through the undergrowth. The warm buzz that enveloped him was fading, and his thoughts were melting like a snowball in the Badlands. His mouth was dry, his palms sweaty. Squinting, he tried to make out his prey, but his vision kept blurring.

The lynx crouched on a slab of rock overhanging the Elrendar falls. It eyed the cascading water lazily, tail twitching. It looked like a lynx - just an ordinary lynx. Not a rabid monster, not like a creature that would maul a blood elf child and scatter her remains across Fairbreeze.

Aethis drew an arrow from its quiver and knocked it to his bow. The lynx yawned. He took aim, finding a path between the trees and undergrowth. His hand shook.

The arrow never came within two yards of the cat. It clacked against the stone and rolled into the waterfall. With a yowl, the lynx lept to its feet and looked around. Fresh blood coated its fangs.

Aethis cursed and backpedaled, searching for another arrow in his quiver. He tripped over a root and dropped his bow, just as the lynx spotted him through the brush. Aethis drew his daggers.

The lynx roared and charged. Aethis stepped behind a tree before it could pounce. The lynx halted and crouched, eying Aethis.

He kept still. Long seconds passed. The lynx's tail twitched, and its claws dug in.

Aethis sidestepped around the tree, just before the lynx charged. Aethis lashed out and sliced the cat's shoulder. The lynx roared and kept running, until it disappeared into the forest.

Aethis waited, but the lynx did not return. A butterfly landed on his bow, and birds chattered in the branches above. Aethis sat with his back against the tree and rested his head in his hands. His heart pounded between his ears.

He could not have said how long he stayed that way, but eventually the pain subsided a little. Enough for him to rise and retrieve his bow, at least. The butterfly flitted away at his touch, beautiful blue wings glinting in the sunlight.

By the time he made it back to Farstrider Retreat, the sun was setting in the western sky. Loris Evensword met him just outside the building.

A cool breeze stirred Loris's raven hair. He regarded Aethis in silence. Aethis gritted his teeth, and clenched his fists to keep his fingers from twitching.

"You took your time," Loris said at last.

Aethis looked away. He had no excuse, and lacked the presence of mind to think of one.

"Did you kill the lynx?"

"It got away."

Loris's eyes blazed. "How can you call yourself a Farstrider, Aethis? All your training, the finest of bows, and you let a cat get away."

"I'm sorry."

"Save it." Loris entered the retreat. Hesitantly, Aethis followed. Lieutenant Dawnrunner was waiting for him, Loris at her side.

"I am disappointed in you, Aethis," she said, sadly.

"If it's so important, I'll find the damn lynx," Aethis said. "I'll go back right now-"

"This is not about the lynx." Dawnrunner's voice was quiet, calm. "This is about you, Aethis."

Aethis swallowed. He nodded.

"Anything to say for yourself?" Loris prompted.

"No," Aethis said.

Loris and Lieutenant Dawnrunner exchanged a look. Loris sighed. "I have always been proud to call myself your mentor, Aethis. You were the greatest student I ever taught - until you became the greatest waste I've ever seen." His gaze bored into Aethis. "You are dismissed. Rise at first light tomorrow." He turned away. "I have a special lesson in mind."

With that, Aethis retreated to his quarters to be alone with his shame.


End file.
